


Negotiation Advice

by caldefrance



Series: Needle & Prick [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bondage, Clothed Sex, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Dubious Consent, Embarrassment, Hand Jobs, Hostage Situations, Human Trafficking, Intracrural sex, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Short Story, sexual awakening, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caldefrance/pseuds/caldefrance
Summary: Nicoló di Genova glanced between the two men arguing over him. If this negotiation were to end poorly, the trader would either ransom him to the highest bidder or abandon his sorry carcass to die from exposure in the desert. If it were to end—well, another way, the Fatimid warrior—Yusuf—who had been tracking his movements for weeks since the siege at Antioch would finally get his hands on his body. As the men haggled over the price of his ransom, Nicoló commended his soul to his God and all his many saints.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Needle & Prick [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981607
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	1. Tease

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written as a response to a prompt posted to theoldguardkinkmeme, which you can find here:  
> https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4108.html?thread=1372940#cmt1372940
> 
> “So after the crusades but before Joe & Nicky decide to stick together, there’s clearly LUST between them whenever they cross paths but Nicky keeps running away when things are about to get good. Joe is pretty frustrated about this.
> 
> “Cue Nicky being captured (bandits? slavers? dealer’s choice) and its tied up and helpless after putting up a heck of a fight. Joe happens upon them and either bargains to buy Nicky from them or “rescues” him from their clutches.
> 
> “But now Joe has a tied up Nicky at his mercy and decides that he’s going to enjoy the spoils while Nicky can’t fight or run away from him.”
> 
> As a prequel to "Riding Lessons," in which Yusuf convinces Nicoló to ride a modified saddle to improve his riding skills, this work explores the early days of that relationship: how they met again and began to travel across the Arabian desert together, each desperate with feelings of lust for the other.

**Nicoló di Genova** glanced between the two men arguing over him. 

If this were to end poorly, the trader would either ransom him to the highest bidder or abandon his sorry carcass to die from exposure in the boundless desert that surrounded them.

If this were to end—well, another way, the Fatimid warrior who he thought had been tracking his movements for weeks since he'd deserted the Christian army after the siege at Antioch would finally get his hands on his body.

Nicoló looked away as the two men continued to haggle over the price for his ransom in a language he could still barely understand. He commended his soul to his God and all his many saints.

**Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad al-Kaysani** had been chasing the Frankish bastard for days now, ever since he’d spotted him on the river bank. 

Yusuf had noticed the man standing on the river bank, after he’d shed his clothing and bared himself in order to perform the ablutions his faith required. He’d been washing the blood and dust from travelling through a desert on foot, standing in the moving water of the river, when he’d caught sight of him. A Frankish soldier, one he recognized from the siege at Antioch, was staring at his nakedness. Since their first encounter on the battlefield and a handful of other engagements after that, their paths hadn’t allowed them to gaze upon each other when they’d crossed without fists raised or blades drawn. Yusuf stared openly at him now, taking his fill. Somewhere between that first battle and this encounter, the Frank had lost his surcoat with its bloody cross and his shirt of mail. Yusuf glared at the man he took for a deserter and yet without the armour and colours of a Christian fighter Yusuf saw a man whose body was made lean and fit from the demands and deprivations of a long military campaign. From this distance, Yusuf could not smell his foul stench or hear his barbarous speech. Had he met this man anywhere but on a battlefield in the Levant—in a trading port on the Mediterranean or a marketplace in the Maghreb—Yusuf thought he would certainly have tried to bed this stranger. Even now his manhood filled with desire as the sight of the disarmed man flooded his body with arousal. _Taba ‘ant jamila. Damn, how this man is beautiful._ Yusuf palmed himself, teasing his _qadib_ as it bobbed and floated at the river’s waterline.

Nicoló blanched. He’d never intended to intrude upon a man’s private matters when he’d wandered towards the river seeking to slake his thirst and yet he found his gaze captivated by the sight this familiar stranger bathing himself. Now, as he stared openly, he felt a surge of desire flood his body. He swallowed, adjusting his stance to compensate for the swelling in his groin as his manhood filled with sinful thoughts. He knew he should turn away, to leave this man to bathe himself in peace, and yet he continued to stare at this familiar stranger like a _cervo_ —a hart—caught grazing boldly in the open by an avid hunter.

Then, Yusuf took a step toward him, splashing in the flowing water as he slipped on the river bed. Nicoló turned tail abruptly, forgetting his earlier desire to quench his thirst, as he fled as fast as his legs and lungs might carry him.

_Allaenat ealayk. Damn you!_ Yusuf decided to let him escape. He saw little sense in chasing a man through the desert, wearing nothing but his own skin. Though he did not intend to give up the chase altogether. Rather, he intended to track this man down and have him, even if his hunt led him to cross the whole of the Arabian desert.

**Yusuf chased** his Frankish ghost across the sands for ten long days and nights. Each time he caught sight of his _muqlae_ —his quarry—he’d disappear into the landscape like a mirage. Yusuf, who had been taught to track the desert’s game by his father and his father’s father before him, remained patient and steadfast as he chased the elusive stranger. Each day, Yusuf’s desire to catch and mount the man whose memory needled him became stronger. What chance did a deserter have that he would elude a seasoned hunter like Yusuf al-Kaysani? Was that his shadow, on the ridge? Or, was that light, to the west, coming from his camp? Were these his footsteps, trudging down the slope? Would the man tremble as he touched his body? Would he whimper or moan when he impaled him with his _qadib_?

In the end, the Frankish bastard was caught by another man. _Allaenat ealaa alrajul. Damn that man twice over!_ Yusuf found Nicoló bound and trussed like a sacrificial goat in the company of a band of men who likely advertised their services as ‘traders.’

“ _As-salaamu Alaikum!_ ” Yusuf shouted, halloing the company of men.

“ _Va-alaikum As-salaam!_ ” A voice, their leader’s, returned the greeting. “What brings a lone man like you through here at such a dry time of year?”

“I’m tracking an elusive _muqlae_ ,” Yusuf said, offering an explanation.

“What kind of animal? A gazelle? Or, perhaps, a horse you’ve lost?”

Yusuf shook his head. “My quarry is a man. I have hunted him for ten days and ten nights, after I recognized him as the Frank who refused to die on my sword before the gates of _‘Antakia_. I believe I am owed a pound of his flesh.”

The trader glanced nervously in the direction of his Frankish captive, who lay in bondage nearby. If this captive were the same man, Yusuf’s prior claim would complicate his business. “We haven’t seen a soul like that cross our paths—only a coward and a thief.”

Yusuf was unconvinced, undistracted by the trader’s digression. “I believe this man, whom you hold bound and captive, is my quarry.”

“This Frank?” the trader asked, gesturing at Nicoló. “We caught him entering our camp under the cover of night, trying to steal food. Surely, you can’t think this is the man who bested you on the battlefield?”

“I never said he bested me,” Yusuf said, grinning, “only that he would not die!”

Yusuf tilted back his head and laughed at his own joke, unphased when the trader’s companions began to place their hands of the hilts of their weapons.

The trader gestured for his armed companions to stay their movements, as he began to see the man before him as a potential customer instead of a rival. 

“We planned to ransom the Frank back to his people. Perhaps we could come to an agreement, instead?”

“You forget my prior claim: this man crossed my path long before he crossed your road.”

“What of a finder’s fee? A modest sum to reward us for the trouble your man caused us?”

“What of the trouble you’ve cause my man?”

“He’s not been harmed.”

“Or touched?”

“Or touched.”

“I am Yusuf al-Kaysani,” he said, naming himself and his clan at last, so they might conduct their business properly. “Name your price.”

“Shall we discuss this over tea?” the trader countered.

Nicoló watched as the two men walked away and entered a tent. He waited, in the hot light of day, for what felt like several hours before they emerged again. Nicoló thought he caught Yusuf stare at him, in a fleeting movement, with a lustful gaze that raked over his prone body as though he were a piece of meat. He shivered, in spite of the heat of the mid-day sun. He closed his eyes and began to pray once more. _Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum—_

The Fatimid warrior and the trader laughed, then, which Nicoló took to mean that an agreement over his custody had been reached. It seemed that Yusuf had purchased not only himself but a dromadary, too.

Nicoló grunted as the trader congratulated him and helped Yusuf load his bound _corpo_ onto the dromadary’s back and settled between the animal’s humps, before Yusuf led them away.

**They travelled** on the back of the dromadary for hours in silence. Nicoló could not ask where they were headed and Yusuf did not volunteer that information. Nicoló’s feverish imagination filled the silence with lustful thoughts. Trussed up like a hog and laid across the dromadary’s back like an animal carcass, he felt as though he were a prize captured by a strong-armed _cacciatore_. Or, even, like a foolish maiden rescued from danger by a capable _innamorato_. Such fantasies filled him with ardour and irritated him in equal measure. To distract himself from the distressing fancies of his own mind, he passed the time by carefully counting the dromadary’s plodding steps. _Uno, due, tre, quattro—_ When he reached _ventunmilaseicentonovanta_ , they stopped.

Yusuf had found a natural depression in the arid landscape and wished to make camp, as it would shelter them from the elements.

Yusuf dragged Nicoló’s limp body from the back of the dromadary. He laid the bound man gently on the ground, wiping sweaty strands of hair from his face. 

Yusuf then busied his hands with the work of making camp, as he considered engaging in a far more intimate negotiation than the one that had secured him his Frankish captive. Yusuf set about gathering combustible material, to light a fire that would frighten away nocturnal predators, while he made up his mind about what to do with his prize.

Yusuf did not think he could quench the lust he felt for this man with fear or blood. He did not find the prospect of forcing himself on a bound and helpless man appealing, no matter his crimes and misdemeanors. He also knew from previous experience that he couldn’t risk untying his prize without risking the man might knife him or turn tail again. He’d rather the man willingly proffered his body to him, for all the pleasure that he might give. But how to make a man he’d chased across the desert like a hunted animal and dragged back in bondage like a hunting trophy give up his pride and beg?

Nicoló coughed then, jolting Yusuf from his self-absorbed thoughts. The man needed water and care, to soothe his parched throat and cool his heat exhaustion, after a day of travelling through the heat of the desert. He could provide that care.

Yusuf guided Nicoló to sit upright—or, at least, to lean upright against the support his own broad chest. He pressed the lip of a waterskin to the man’s dry lips. _Ashrb ma’ak. Drink your water. Bere—tu bevi._ Satisfied the man could understand him when he swallowed warm sips from the waterskin, he then took a handful of dates from his bag and brought crushed, pit-less pieces to his mouth. _Kl hdha. Eat this. Consumare. La—mangiare—tu mangi._ As he continued feeding dates and sips of water to the man, he thought the man seemed to come alive again in his arms. His gaze cleared, focusing and meeting his own stare. He began to sit upright, under his own power, no longer reliant on his embrace for support. He even began to shift in his seat, as though his loins were infested with _cataglyphis_ —desert ants.

Nicoló wondered whether he’d died again, to find himself held securely in this man’s arms and his needs thus catered to. When he had wandered alone through the arid desert, he was certain he’d died of exposure to the heat at least once. He had been fairly sure he would die from starvation, when desperation drove him to steal whatever provisions he might find with a travelling band of armed men to satiate his hunger. Those traumatic experiences now made the dried and leathery dates this man held to his lips taste like ambrosia. As this man fed him with such careful attention, as no other man had cared for him before, a man who had never let another touch him felt his _cazzo_ fill with desire as waves of ardour coursed through his veins and lust coloured his vision. _Caro Dio!_ He shifted nervously in his seat. Would this man notice his arousal? Would he be disgusted by his ardour? Or, would he take him in hand and tame the sinful urges that threatened to burst through his skin? How would it feel to have all his obscene desires satisfied by this man?

Yusuf thought that perhaps the man needed to bathe. He so yearned to help him, to wipe all the filth and dirt from the man’s naked body, but he knew of no fresh streams or watering holes nearby.

“What am I to do with you?” Yusuf asked him, interrupting Nicoló’s rambling thoughts, without truly expecting an answer from a man whose grasp of other languages seemed tenuous at best.

Even as Yusuf began to resign himself to the thought of spending the night restlessly, burning with arousal and desire for his captive, Nicoló broke his silence and spoke.


	2. Needle

Nicoló strained against his bonds. The men who had captured him had bound his limbs with coarse rope, tying his legs together at the ankles and knees and his hands together behind his back. The man who held him now had yet to untie him, to allow him stretch and flex his limbs, even as his bindings began to pain him with painful cramping.

“ _Liberami per favore_. Please, to release you me?” Nicoló begged his captor to release him from his bonds. 

Yusuf looked at Nicoló blankly, for a moment, confused as he tried to decipher his captive’s jumbled _lingua franca_. Had the man asked him to touch him? Did he want his help to get him off?

Yusuf knelt before Nicoló, reaching for his groin. As Yusuf began to free his engorged genitals from the confines of his hose, Nicoló reacted with a hiss, raising his bound knees to physically block his midsection and deny his permission.

“ _Non toccarmi! Noli me tangere!_ Touch me not!” he gasped, demurring, even though his engorged cock strained uncomfortably against his clothing.

“I don’t understand,” Yusuf told him, in the same _lingua franca_ , speaking slowly so he might be understood.

“ _Si prega di notare che._ No touch, to release you me.”

“You wish for me to release you? To help you?”

“ _Si signore._ ”

“Without touching you?”

“ _Certo._ ”

Under Nicoló’s wary gaze, Yusuf went to search his saddle bags for an item he thought might help. He returned with a length of cloth that shimmered with red and yellow hues in the fire’s light.

“ _Cos’è quello?_ What is this?” Nicoló asked him.

“ _Alharir._ Silk.” Yusuf explained, showing the cloth to him. “It is soft and gentle against skin. To release, no touch?”

Nicoló nodded, relaxing, as he studied the cloth with awe. He’d never seen a cloth that could catch colours and shimmer with light before. His family’s middling station would never have allowed him to purchase such a luxury in Genoa. Had he come across a bolt of such a beautiful fabric in his travels, he felt certain he would have purchased a piece of it to hold and treasure as a keepsake. He wondered, his breath catching, how the cloth might feel against his skin—forgetting how he’d protested earlier against this man’s touch.

“It is best to touch against _hassas_ —sensitive—skin.”

Nicoló nodded breathlessly, consenting.

Yusuf wrapped his left hand in the silk fabric, taking care to release the captive man’s engorged genitals without touching his skin. He then gripped his manhood with the silk wrapped around his hand, rubbing and squeezing the soft and slippery fabric against his stiffening cock. The bound man gasped beneath him, as his length filled itself from contact with the smooth and sensuous texture of the silk. The man made soft noises, moaning and gasping, as he found pleasure in the teasing sensations from the silk that wrapped around his cock. He even made a small choking sound, as his cock pulsed and spent itself into the cloth, soiling the silk.

Yusuf removed his hand and the soiled cloth, as Nicoló relaxed against his bonds, spent.

“I not to know your name,” Nicoló admitted, when he was able to recover his breath.

“Yusuf,” he answered. “I am Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad al-Kaysani.”

“Nicoló,” he replied. “They call me Nicoló di Genova.”

“Nico,” Yusuf murmured.

‘Nico’ felt his cheeks warm, as found himself flustered by Yusuf’s attention and realized he desired more of it. He gathered his courage and asked for it. “Will you touch me, again? _Per favore_?”

“Touch you, where?” Yusuf repeated his question, to needle him a little and push him to admit his desires more freely.

Nicoló blushed, again, at a loss for words.

“ _Yjb ealayk altasawul_ , Nico. You have to ask for what you want.” Yusuf wanted Nicoló to beg for his pleasure under him.

Nicoló swallowed, as a wave of arousal crashed through his body. “ _Per favore_ ,” he begged, “touch _mio corpo_?”

“Your body?”

“ _Sì._ ”

“Where on your body?”

“ _M-mio cazzo_.”

“Your cock?”

“ _Sì._ ”

“What of your arse?”

“Oh, _per favore_.”

Yusuf touched Nicoló’s arse, then, baring it as he pulled down his hose. He now touched the man’s cock with his bare hands and reached for his arse. 

Nicoló gasped as Yusuf breached his anal sphincter with a finger. He moaned as Yusuf jerked and rubbed his cock while fingering his anus. He begged in broken _lingua franca_ for his touch, for his pleasure, and—even—for his _cazzo_. 

“ _Ancora, per favore, toccami!_ ”

Yusuf took delight in taking Nicoló apart with his hands, manipulating his cock and his arse, until he fidgeted and pulled against his bonds once more.

“ _Per favore abbi pietà di me!_ ”

Yusuf relished the sight of his prize, begging for mercy and for more pleasure, as he served this man with his hands.

“ _Non posso sopportarlo! Sufficienza! Di più! Caro Dio!_ ”

Yusuf felt his own cock stir and swell with arousal, straining uncomfortably against his clothing, as he led this man to a second orgasm with his hands.

“ _Grazie! È fatta!_ ”

Yusuf was not yet finished, however. He took his own cock in hand, then, nursing it to stiffen like a rod. He flipped Nicoló onto his stomach, who whimpered as his sensitive cock pressed against the hard ground, and shoved his now-hardened cock between the man’s bound thighs. 

“ _Cosa fai? Che diavolo è questo!_ ”

Yusuf quenched his lust in the warmth and tightness of the bound man’s seat. Yusuf chased his own desires as he rubbed and thrusted his sensitive cock against the skin of Nicoló’s thighs and groin. He revelled in the sounds Nicoló made beneath him, as he whimpered and moaned with sensitivity. 

“ _Caro Dio! Quest’uomo ha così tanta lussuria!_ ”

Yusuf thrust and rubbed against Nicoló’s sensitive parts, with enthusiasm, until his movements grew erratic and he achieved his own release—adding his sperm to the mess on Nicoló’s stomach.

“ _Grazie. Grazie mille. È finito._ ”

Yusuf breathed out a contented sigh, as he’d relished Nicoló’s half-hearted resistance and his sincerely-expressed gratitude. Yusuf then pulled out and turned the Nicoló’s plundered body over, reaching for the soiled piece of silk to gently wipe the mess from their bodies. Nicoló babbled on, unintelligibly, as Yusuf adjusted his hose and covered his nakedness. Yusuf then released his grip on his prize and laid down, his lust satisfied, and waited for sleep to take him.

Nicoló woke Yusuf the next morning, as he swore and struggled against his bonds.

“ _Per favore_ ,” he begged, when he saw his captor watching him. “ _Liberami._ You untie me now.”

Yusuf stared at him for a moment, considering his reply. “What will you do with your hands untied, Nico?”

“ _Nessun danno._ No harm!” Nicoló swore.

Yusuf chuckled. “I asked you: what you will do with your hands untied, Nico?”

Nicoló considered the question, his brow furrowed.

“Help?” Nicoló volunteered, uncertain.

Yusuf gestured at their campsite. “I still need to pack up our camp and tack up the dromadary before we set off this morning. Will you help me?”

“Help you?” Nicoló repeated, like a child repeating a vocabulary lesson.

“Yes. Help me pack up our things.”

Nicoló nodded, understanding, before holding out his bound feet to Yusuf.

Yusuf drew his small dagger and quickly cut through Nicoló’s bindings, before he could change his mind. Yusuf then sheathed his blade and held out a hand to Nicoló to bring him to his feet.

Nicoló took Yusuf’s hand, accepting his help, to rise and stretch his cramped legs. Yusuf then directed him to pack their bags, with a firm hand.

That evening, when they paused to make camp, Nicoló gathered materials for a fire while Yusuf tended to the dromadary. 

Yusuf found Nicoló struggling to light the few pieces he’d gathered, striking two stones together to make a spark. Yusuf placed his hands on Nicoló’s, pausing his movements. “If you keep striking the stones like this,” he teased, “we’ll be eating our food cold for months!”

“You teach me?” Nicoló asked, in his broken lingua franca. “I help you?”

Yusuf agreed, “I’ll teach you, so you can help me.”

He held one stone out to the man—now his pupil—and mimed striking it with the other. He repeated the action, twice. Then, he struck the stone and made a spark. With two more strikes, he’d lit the kindling with a small tongue of flame.

“ _Grazie_ , Yusuf.”

“You’re welcome, Nico.”

“I help you now?” Nicoló asked.

“Help?” Yusuf repeated, confused by his question.

Nicoló gestured at the seat of his pants, miming an obscene gesture.

“You want to touch me? To release me?”

“I help you,” Nicoló repeated, once more, with intent.

Yusuf coughed, adjusting his seat as a flood of arousal filled his member when he realized that Nicoló intended to trade sexual favours for his help.

Yusuf did not offer any resistance as Nicoló reached for his groin again. He let his companion release his aroused member from his clothing. He let him grip his sensitive cock as he had done, rubbing and squeezing it. He gasped as he found pleasure in his inexperienced touches. He bit back a moan as his cock throbbed in this man’s grasping movements. He made a small choking sound as his cock pulsed and spent itself into his companion’s hand.

“Thank you for your help, Nico,” Yusuf said, as the man cleaned him with hesitant movements.

And so they travelled on through the Arabian desert. During the day, Yusuf and Nicoló sat astride the dromadary, plotting their course across the shifting sands. At night, Nicoló begged for Yusuf to teach him things—how to speak his language, how to read the position of the stars, how to track desert game as well as how to kill and butcher the meat cleanly—and paid for his lessons with sexual favours.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Nico,” Yusuf would say as he tutored him in Arabic. “I need you to focus on my instruction.”

Nicoló knelt before him, holding his hands behind his back. His brow furrowed as he concentrated.

“ _Khayt hareer—_ ” he began, hesitantly.

“No, Nico, the sound needs to come from the back of your throat,” Yusuf corrected him. “Pronounce it _khayT_ ,” he said, exaggerating his pronunciation.

“ _KhayT hareer ealaa hayt—_ ”

“ _HayT_!”

”— _HayT khaleel_ ,” Nicoló finished, as he struggled to pronounce the twisting phrase.

“Again,” Yusuf drilled him.

“ _Khayt harir ealaa hayt khalil_.”

“That’s better. Use more tongue.”

“ _Khayt harir ealaa hayt khalil_ ,” Nicoló repeated, practising his elocution. “A silken thread is on Khaleel’s wall. A silken thread is on Khaleel’s wall.”

“We’ll keep practising your pronunciation,” Yusuf promised him, as he freed his engorged member from his clothing. “Soon enough, Nico, you’ll be able to negotiate with traders for your own silk cloth!”

Nicoló said nothing in reply, as he took Yusuf’s cock into his mouth, to pleasure him the way he'd been taught. _Cover your teeth with your lips when you swallow my qadib, Nico._ Nicoló swallowed the length of Yusuf’s stiffening cock. _Pull with your cheeks and suck first, Nico._ He hollowed his cheeks and sucked. _Use more tongue, Nico._ He twisted his tongue, licking and lapping at it. _Take my qadib deep into your mouth, Nico, swallow me whole._ He sucked on the tip, tasting saltiness, before swallowing down to the root, breathing in the heady scent of musk. _You learn so well, Nico._ He worked enthusiastically to thank Yusuf, with another orgasm, for the care and attention the man dedicated to tutoring him.

In time, these favours—a pleasuring hand or an attentive mouth on his body—turned to affection and to love. In time, these touches which were carefully negotiated and transactional became freely given and sought in return. In time, Yusuf and Nicoló would come to depend on one another for more than the protection of their sword arm on the road or the skill they showed in these private moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this series or had an idea of something else Nicoló needed to learn from Yusuf, leave a comment! If it sounds like fun, I might even write a short fill for you in the comments section.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
